


An Unwelcome Reunion

by Resoan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: FE3H Kinkmeme, M/M, intersex!Felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24475096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: Post-CF!Sylvain, hardened and embittered that Felix left him after the war, stumbles across Felix in old Alliance territory where he and Leonie have been working as part of a traveling troupe of performers. He can't help himself but show Felix exactly how the years -- and Felix's absence -- have changed him.He can't imagine why Felix seeks him out in Gautier territory after that, though.Non-Con only applies to the second chapter. Can't help myself but to give them a happy ending, though.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the FE3H kinkmeme prompt:
> 
> Post CF dark!Sylvain. Even tho Felix had kept Sylvain alive thru the war by reaffirming their promise that they’d live together and die together, Felix still leaves with no warning after CF, only leaving his sword behind on Sylvain’s doorstep. Sylvain, still dealing with the emotional fallout of killing Ingrid+Dimitri in war, doesn’t take this well at all cus he’d kept going only for Felix to then be abandoned, which reinforced his trust issues and feelings of being unlovable. He becomes a dark, embittered man filled with resentment, uses sex to both hurt and self-harm.
> 
> One day, he’s away from Faerghus for Margrave work and finds a troupe of street dancers with a gorgeous Felix among them and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. He unloads all his anger + resentment brutally fucking Felix.
> 
> \+ Felix left Sylvain over the guilt he felt for killing his father and their friends but still loves him after all these years.  
> \+ Sylvain mocks and humiliates Felix over the revealing clothes he now uses as a street performer.  
> \+ Felix is still a virgin even with the years that passed cus he wasn’t over Sylvain and refused to fall for anyone else again.  
> \+ If trans Felix, Sylvain cruelly comes inside Felix to get him pregnant and leave Felix something to remember him by.  
> \+ Sylvain realizes he’s becoming the same monster his brother was.
> 
> Can be dubcon or noncon and have either a happy ending with them reconciling or a heartbreaking one, your pick! ^q^
> 
> The prompt can be found here: https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=358620#cmt358620

The road to Derdriu was abuzz was people now that the harsh winter had passed and the snows of Faerghus had given way to the soft sunlight of springtime. Merchants traveled the roads again, bringing their wares to the city while political envoys passed through with undoubtedly important messages to deliver – though never without a stop at the tavern, of course.

Ignatz had apparently told Leonie all about it when last they'd run into each other little over a month ago, though when she'd tried to tell him the details, Felix had only been half-listening. He'd had little interest beyond what they would be doing next and where, and even upon first glance the merchant's post masquerading as a village was disgustingly safe. What few guards patrolled were horrendously under-armed, and most were in the tavern when he and Leonie arrived with the rest of the troupe. A blonde woman nearby laughed, her bosoms shaking in the low cut of her dress, and Felix pointedly looked away, his expression hardening.

“You okay?” Leonie asked, her forearm resting against the table as she raised an eyebrow up at him.

“It's nothing,” Felix insisted, looking away from her pointed gaze, though as she sat back in her chair, Felix knew he hadn't convinced her of anything, save the knowledge that something _was_ wrong. After another moment, Felix let out a quiet sigh, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Her laugh...sounded like Ingrid's,” Felix finally offered quietly, blinking away the blood-soaked images of Ingrid falling off her pegasus on the field, red pouring from the arrow-wound in her neck as she gasped for breath that would not come.

Leonie's lips thinned in sympathy, and Felix did not pull away as she patted his arm; they were not in love, were not romantically involved whatsoever, but Leonie understood him better than anyone outside of Faerghus ever had.

“You should go to bed soon. We'll have to be up early tomorrow,” Leonie reminded him, lifting her hand away to swat at low-hanging orange bangs.

Felix merely inclined his head before standing, though he huffed out what might have been a laugh as he saw Leonie turn back towards the barkeep and ask for an ale.

 _Some things never change_ , Felix mused, though as he took the stairs to the second floor, his eyes roved down to his left hip, now curiously devoid of a sheath or a weapon of any kind. It had taken him _months_ to grow accustomed to the lack, though not simply of his sword.

 _No_ , Felix then scolded himself with a terse expression, lips thinning and eyes hardening. _I won't think about him now._

Leaving Sylvain after the war had been the hardest thing Felix had ever done, and even now, seven years later, he wondered if he made the right decision. Sylvain had done nothing wrong, had done nothing but love Felix despite all the glaring flaws and baggage the swordsman carried upon his shoulders, but how could Felix possibly remain in Faerghus? Sylvain was all he had left of the place – Dimitri, Ingrid, even his _father_ was dead – and some nights he still woke in a cold sweat to see the hurt and betrayal in their gazes that accused him. Though of what, Felix could not say nor attempted to discern.

_“Don't you remember our promise, Felix?”_

_“Of course I do. Don't be ridiculous.”_

Something ached in the hollow of his chest as the memory replayed itself without his permission, a sweaty and blood-smeared Sylvain offering him a soft smile before sweeping him in his arms for a kiss just before Fhirdiad. In his weaker moments he allowed himself to think of what Sylvain was doing at that moment, of whom he had ended up marrying, and how his life had turned out now that Felix had faded away from it. More than once he'd woken up aroused, remembering the heated kisses they'd shared and the questing hands that had snaked down his sides and pawed at his ass, and Felix had nearly bitten through his tongue to keep from shouting Sylvain's name as he came.

–

“We should arrive at Derdriu within the week, Margrave.” Sylvain merely inclined his head in a tacit reply, still finding his title distasteful if only for the unpleasant memories it brought back from his childhood. He'd wanted to do away with it altogether, but the Emperor had forbidden it.

_One of the few things I'm apparently allowed to keep_ , came the bitter thought: one that curled at Sylvain's lips but did not quite make it into a scowl. _That, and this worthless thing._ Sylvain's eyes roved down to the sheathed sword that had long been abandoned on his doorstep – a final farewell from one Felix Fraldarius – except the bastard had _forgotten_ the actual goodbye. Knowing that Felix would be there with him after the war was over had been the only thing keeping Sylvain going for a time, especially after the battle at Tailtean where the majority of the Blue Lions had all been slain, some of whom by his own hand. 

But Felix may as well have died too for all that it mattered now. Sylvain had been abandoned, _again_ , and any soft part of him had long since hardened into unforgiving edges. He'd lost count of how many servants he'd gone through in his tenure as Margrave. The maids liked to flirt with him, lulled into comfort by his too-wide smile and flirtatious demeanor, but they always ended up _crying_ beneath him, begging him to stop. Once upon a time he might have felt some sting of sympathy for them and heeded their wishes, but who were _they_ to tell him anything? New bloodstains on his sheets meant entirely new sheets and inevitably a new maid, and the cycle continued in a seemingly endless spiral. 

For a time after Felix had disappeared Sylvain had nursed the stupid, vain hope that he might return, apologetic and still wanting to be with Sylvain, but after the fifth anniversary of Edelgard's victory, Sylvain had drunken himself into a stupor and let go of his stupid wish. Felix was long gone, probably already dead, and nothing Sylvain did would bring him back. Thinking Felix was dead somehow numbed him, made him feel better than thinking Felix had actively _left_ him for another life somewhere else, and whatever shred of a happy memory remained to him abruptly shattered. 

Still, Sylvain refused to part with Felix's sword even as the blade hadn't even been removed from its scabbard since Felix had last used it – yet another of his eccentricities Sylvain knew everyone gossiped about behind his back. It was undoubtedly one of the more benign rumors, though; the thought didn't tear at him as much as it might have years earlier where people and their opinions mattered. Even in a world where crests were not valued, Sylvain was unhappy, and the irony of the outcome was not lost on him. 

The carriage abruptly jolted to a stop, and Sylvain steadied himself with a hand against the door, eyebrows narrowed. “What's the hold-up?” Sylvain asked coldly, though the sounds of a crowd and frivolities were hard to miss. 

“It's a troupe of performers, Margrave Sir. They're blocking the road, and the townsfolk with them.” Sylvain's eyes rolled at the explanation. 

“Fine. I guess it can't be helped them. We'll stay here for the night and head out tomorrow.” 

It was strange to travel in a carriage instead of on horseback, but his footman had insisted and riding...brought back too many memories anyway. Was his horse even still alive? Those in the stables shied away from him whenever he thought to go riding, though that was increasingly rare anymore. 

Children ran in front of him as Sylvain stepped out of the carriage, the redhead pausing and watching them with a hard expression. It was much easier to ignore the world cooped up in Gautier territory, after all, especially when it reminded him so keenly of what the war had taken from him. Sylvain shook his head before turning towards the inn, though as he came closer the troupe drew his attention more and more. Fire-breathers, jugglers, archers...even a knife thrower were dazzling the crowd with their skills, though Sylvain practically choked on his own saliva when he caught sight of long, dark hair tied back as the knife thrower began to juggle the knives instead. 

Seeing _Felix_ here of all places had initially brought something warm into his chest, but it was quickly snuffed out by ice, vitriol beginning to boil low in his belly as a clenched fist began to shake slightly at his side. Felix had thrown him away... for _this_? It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to interrupt the show and drag Felix away right at that moment, though he chose instead to watch: to let his gaze slide over the ridiculous outfit Felix wore which clung to his skin and revealed more of his stomach and legs than Sylvain imagined Felix was comfortable with. 

How long would it take before Felix noticed him there? Sylvain watched as the crowd gasped and cried and ultimately applauded Felix's antics, though as Felix took a bow and looked back up, he froze in place. Sylvain offered him a smile: a cold expression as sharp as the knives Felix had just been throwing, and something dark jumped in his chest to see Felix turn abruptly and try to flee. 

Sylvain was hardly about to let him get away now, though. 

“Going somewhere, Felix?” Sylvain asked, his hand grasping the other's wrist tightly and refusing to let go. 


	2. Chapter 2

At first, Felix had assumed he was seeing things; catching glimpses of Sylvain out in the crowd had happened before, only for Felix to look out over the people once more and realize it had only been wishful thinking. But now? Now Sylvain's grip around his wrist was unmistakable, and there was no sign of the easy-going, carefree nobleman Felix had befriended in his youth; the smile Sylvain had offered him had been all sharp angles, something far darker than the insincere expressions he'd once offered the tittering idiots of Garreg Mach he took to his bed every other night.

Surprise left him winded, though Sylvain seemed to move with purpose as he dragged Felix away from the crowds, only to round on him when he paused between two buildings, one of which might have been the tavern. It would have been so easy to fall back into old habits, to chide Sylvain for being so careless and unnecessarily harsh, but Felix's eyes widened when Sylvain turned to him and crushed their mouths together in what could have only minimally passed as a kiss. The contact was bruising, and though Felix squirmed and tried to wrench his hand free of Sylvain's grip, the redhead merely grunted before slamming it and its fellow against the stone above Felix's head. The sudden motion sent a jolt through Felix, and as he turned his head aside Sylvain's free hand gripped his jaw and tilted it up just as his tongue forced its way into Felix's unwilling mouth.

Heat and color rose swiftly up Felix's pale cheeks, his heart racing despite himself and the anger bubbling just beneath his skin. Sylvain's tongue coiled around his own, stroked it, laved across every weak spot Sylvain had discovered during happier times, and but just when Felix had begun to give in: to offer Sylvain something more reciprocal, the redhead pulled away – though not before biting cruelly down on Felix's bottom lip and tugging until it nearly bled.

“Why are–”

“Shhh. No one said you could _talk_ , Fe,” Sylvain clicked his tongue as one might have a misbehaving dog. “Did you forget? Or was it _all_ a lie?” Sylvain's laughter was self-effacing, his smile jagged and lacking in any kind of warmth, yet Felix managed to grit his jaw even still, trying at defiance when something sank low in his gut – the knowledge that he was responsible for whatever had happened to Sylvain, whatever had happened to make him...like this.

“Sylvain–” Again, Felix's words were cut off, and whatever he had been about to say garbled in between Sylvain's fingers as they closed in over Felix's mouth.

“ _Don't_ call me that. It's 'Margrave' now, remember? Or, I guess you wouldn't know, would you? You'd rather prance around with your fucking _circus_ in old Alliance territory, right?” Sylvain's tone teetered between amusement and rage, though even as he stared down into Felix's face, the latter did not flinch away despite the impulse. This was not Sylvain, he tried to remind himself.

Felix blinked to hear Sylvain inhale a shaky breath, his vice-like grip on Felix's wrists loosening for a brief moment. “Was it _so_ terrible? Being with me?” Felix could hear the unasked question – _Why did you leave?_ – without Sylvain needing to say it, and even as Felix's jaw trembled and his angry expression dissolved into a frown, he somehow knew Sylvain wouldn't simply accept the answer Felix could offer him. The war had taken its own toll on Felix, and however strong Sylvain was, this burden could not be _shared_. Or, perhaps, Felix _refused_ to share it. Sylvain deserved better: he'd always thought so, which was why this encounter was so infuriating and so confusing.

“Ah, well. I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?” Sylvain added, the dark humor returning to his too-light tone. Felix froze in place when Sylvain caught his eyes, though his gaze roved down further, lingering in the bare spaces where his pale skin seemed almost to glow: still lithe from his many years of training, though the hard muscle beneath was not so slid anymore. “You always _were_ pretty,” Sylvain added in an off-handed comment. “I'm surprised you let people see you like this,” Sylvain murmured, leaning his head down so his words brushed over the shell of Felix's ear.

“Or...do more than that?” Sylvain grinned menacingly against Felix's neck as his free hand curled over the significant expanse of bare skin on Felix's stomach. “Do you let them touch you, Fe? Let them _fuck_ you? I mean, just _look_ at what you're wearing! It practically screams _whore_.” Felix winced as Sylvain's fingers curled inward against his skin, blunt nails dragging uncomfortably and leaving red scratches behind. “I'd offer you money if I thought you'd take it, but you're too good for that, right? Then how about I take what I'm _owed_?”

Felix had to bite back a sudden yelp when Sylvain's hand dragged down and cupped his length, half-hard and only growing the more Sylvain's hand lingered. “Who knew you were such a _slut_ underneath all that bluster? And to think, you never even let _me_ fuck you when we were....well, were we ever really together?” Sylvain paused then, allowing himself a moment to watch Felix biting down on his lip as he struggled to keep his hips from moving. “Better tell me where you're staying, Fe, unless you _want_ an audience here.” Watching Felix struggle made his own cock twitch with interest, though instead of doing as he asked, Felix shoved him back and glared at him.

“I'm not just going to _stand_ here and let you do whatever you want!” Felix spat, still red-faced and sporting a sizable bulge between his legs.

Felix's outburst prompted Sylvain to look him over once more, an eyebrow raised, before Sylvain dissolved into outright laughter. “ _That's_ the old Felix I remember,” Sylvain commented lightly, though even as Felix recognized the darkness returning to his eyes and turned to run, Sylvain was quicker. Felix's chest collided with the stone wall, the action leaving him gasping for breath as Sylvain's chest pressed tightly against his back, though it wasn't his chest that was foremost on Felix's mind. Something hot pressed against the curve of his ass, and Felix's eyes fluttered shut as Sylvain groaned against the nape of his neck.

“What happened, Felix? You used to be so _strong_ , and now you're practically begging to have my cock inside you.” Felix started at that, only just beginning to realize his hips were straining back towards Sylvain's erection, though whatever he'd been about to say instead turned into a groan as Sylvain's mouth bit down on his neck. “Last chance, Fe. Here, or your room? You should be grateful I'm offering you a choice at all.” Felix could scarcely even hear Sylvain speaking his pulse raced so loudly in his ears.

He would never be able to say what possessed him to lead Sylvain through the tavern, though the redhead had already discarded his outer robe and his boots by the time Felix had shut and latched his door. “Still going to tell me you don't want this?” Sylvain taunted him, not shy whatsoever in pushing Felix down and kissing him hard, swallowing any rebuttal the former swordsman might have offered.

“I...don't,” Felix breathed, hardly making a case for himself as his cock throbbed against his lower belly. Still, hearing his words made Sylvain still above him, expression unreadable until it hardened and Sylvain's fingers returned to the slutty outfit he'd mocked earlier.

“Good. Then I don't have to feel guilty if I make you bleed.” Sylvain didn't bother with any of the clasps or buttons holding Felix's sorry excuse for clothing together: he ripped and tore until it fell apart in his own hands, strips of blue and white and orange falling away and baring Felix's skin. Felix's hands tried to push Sylvain away, but after several moments of fighting back Sylvain eventually grabbed a still-sturdy piece of fabric and ties them to Felix's bedpost. “Why'd you let me in here if you didn't want me to fuck you? I'm sure it's nothing new,” Sylvain commented with a lazy shrug, though as his gaze slid down, he smirked at Felix's cock, fully hard and leaking clear fluid.

“Slut,” Sylvain taunted again, the tip of his finger circling the head before Felix practically seized at the contact. “You're so sensitive. You must do this a lot.” Whatever mirth had been in his tone evaporated instantly. His hands settled on either side of Felix's chest, and the dark, cruel glint in his eyes returned as he stared down at Felix, _into_ Felix. “I'll make you forget _everyone_ else you've ever had, Felix,” Sylvain promised, his japing tone long gone. “I'll fuck you until you can't take anymore, until you can't walk or _cum_ , and then I'll fuck you again. And every time you fuck someone from now on, you'll only ever think of _me_. It's only fair, you know?”

Felix cried out sharply when Sylvain's hand tugged at his cock, stroking it none-too-gently, though even as he probed at Felix's testicles, he paused, eyes widening. “What the...,” Sylvain's voice trailed off as he pulled back, sitting back on his haunches before lifting Felix's cock and balls out of the way. “Well now. This changes everything,” Sylvain murmured lowly, _darkly_ , his tongue swiping over his lips before he pressed two fingers inside of Felix's overheated and dripping pussy. Felix's back arched sharply as he cried out again, more pre-cum leaking from his cock as arousal trailed down the insides of his thighs.

“Has anyone fucked _this_ before, Felix?” Sylvain asked, perhaps a touch hoarsely, needfully. Felix could only watch as a malicious smile crossed the redhead's face. “Maybe I'll leave you a present, a parting gift so you'll _always_ remember me.”

Felix's eyes widened at the implication. “Sylvain, _please_! Don't!” He tugged at the knot Sylvain had curled around his wrists, pulling until his shoulders ached and his wrists chafed, but neither the fabric nor the bed gave even slightly.

“Why not?” Sylvain asked simply, as though unaware of the source of Felix's desperation. “Don't you _want_ to have my baby?” His long, large fingers began to stroke inside of him again before Felix could offer any sort of answer, though watching his thighs seize and roil upwards made Sylvain chuckle lowly. He discarded his own clothing slowly, only after devouring every bit of Felix's slick from his fingers, though when he settled between Felix's legs, his cock pressed against the opening a little further up. “I'd have fucked you so much sooner if I'd known, Felix. No wonder you never let me even see you naked.” A kinder man would have opened Felix up first: would have slicked his fingers with oil or Felix's own arousal and pressed fingers into his ass first, but Sylvain had no patience and no care anymore. The wide head of his cock split Felix open harshly, seating only the first few inches inside of his ass, and Sylvain could feel the blood lubing his cock from where he'd been too harsh.

Felix bit back the pain, blinking tears from the corners of his eyes, though feeling one of Sylvain's hands at the side of his jaw startled him in its initial tenderness. _Don't cry, Felix._ He could hear the old Sylvain say that so gently, so _sweetly_ , yet _this_ Sylvain merely smirked down at him. “We haven't even _started_ yet, Fe. I know you can take more.” His hips abruptly jolted forward, sheathing himself fully in Felix's ass, and Sylvain swallowed Felix's cries as he did so, bringing their mouths back together in a harsh kiss that he genuinely hoped bruise. He wanted Felix to remember this, after all.

The pace he set was tough-going at first, a stuttered rhythm that caught against Felix's inner walls and pulled none-too-gently against his own cock, though after several tries, Sylvain began to groan, his forehead settling in the middle of Felix's chest. “Goddess. I knew this would be sweet, but,” Sylvain's voice tapered off as he shook his head, one hand steadying himself at Felix's side while the other wrapped around the other cock and kept him purposefully interested: aroused enough to feel it yet never enough to orgasm.

Sylvain found it easy to taste Felix as he kept his mouth open, though as his pace became easier and Felix began to open up more for him, Sylvain pulled out, dragging his cock along Felix's skin until the tip pressed at swollen, flushed lower lips.

“Sylvain,” Felix breathed, catching his gaze with a beseeching look of his own. “ _Please_ don't.” A single flicker of something familiar in Sylvain's eyes nearly stopped him, though Felix cried out when Sylvain's hesitation gave way to his hunger.

“ _Oh_ , Felix. _Goddess._ You're so warm and _tight_ ,” Sylvain praised him, his hips beginning to slap lightly against Felix's as his eyes squeezed shut to savor the sensation. Much to his chagrin, Felix found he... _enjoyed_ the sensations, the pulsing of his inner walls around Sylvain's cock as that sweet friction made him tug against his restraints again, but this time, he wanted only to wrap his arms around Sylvain's shoulders.

Sylvain had scarcely even started and already he was beginning to feel his control slipping; it was _maddening_ , but Felix was beginning to moan and move his hips in encouragement, and such only made his pleasure all the more intense. What drove him fully over the edge was hearing Felix gasp his _name_ , and as Felix's cunt clamped down on his cock, Sylvain could only follow suit with a deep groan. He scarcely even noticed the strands of white that painted his chest from Felix's orgasm, though as he pulled himself free and looked down at Felix, something cold seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach. Tremors wracked Felix's body, his lips swollen and parted as he seemed to refuse to look up at Sylvain, and something Sylvain hadn't felt in _years_ coiled around his heart and _seized_ : regret.

What had he _done_?

He'd taken something precious, something he'd genuinely loved, and sullied it with his own selfishness and ugly desires. He was no better than Miklan stealing the lance for his own selfish gains. No, Sylvain was worse: Felix wasn't an item or an object, and no matter what he'd said, Sylvain had done only what _he'd_ wanted.

Felix _ached_ : between the restraints still holding his hands aloft, the twitch of his ass as a glaze of blood oozed down, and the orgasm that had swept him away as easily as a storm had a boat at sea. Sylvain...would not look at him, though, and said nothing as he untied the knot holding Felix's arms. Exhaustion kept Felix from chasing after him, though, and by the time Felix woke the next morning, there was no sign of Margrave Gautier – not any that he'd ever come through their little village, save for the curious, little life that Felix would not discover until months later.


	3. Chapter 3

“I'll _kill_ him.” Leonie's face was taut, her mouth pulled in an uncharacteristic scowl, and though Felix could practically feel her pent-up rage, he did not share it. “I mean it. I'll go west into his territory, cut off his–” 

“ _Leonie_ ,” he chided her quietly, his tone much more subdued than usual. She blinked at that, pulling her hand away from where she'd held a poultice to the side of his mouth, and then he saw he anger reignite further. 

“Are you _kidding_ me? He does _all this_ to you and you're not even mad? He _raped_ –” 

“Leonie, that's enough,” Felix sighed, a hand curling at his brow. It was only his good fortune that the tavern was mostly empty, either because most of its visitors were still asleep or nursing hangovers or simply hadn't gotten away from whatever kept them remained to be seen. 

There was judgment in her eyes, in the way she stared at him uncomprehendingly, but she said nothing else, instead turning to look away from him as though she couldn't bear it any longer. “I don't understand you sometimes, you know,” Leonie admitted with a quiet sigh, her shoulders sagging a little. “Are you sure you're all right? I can get the healer, bring her back if she missed something...,” Leonie's voice trailed off, and Felix's lips twitched – as though he were fighting away the urge to smile – for the first time that day. 

“It's fine,” Felix insisted, though Leonie's eyes simply rolled at his declaration. 

“'Had worse than this before', right?” Leonie repeated words Felix had undoubtedly spoken before, and blinked owlishly to hear something that might have been a chuckle from Felix in turn. 

“Something like that,” Felix murmured, trying desperately not to let himself remember. Part of him wanted to leave, to go after Sylvain, though what he did when he _found_ the Margrave even he wasn't certain. Leonie was right; he _should_ have been angry, should have been blind with fury and chomping at the bit to drive a sword through Sylvain's gut for what he did, but all he felt was guilt and a gnawing unease in his belly. How could he blame Sylvain for his actions when Felix had been the one who'd torn apart their relationship to begin with? Perhaps some part of him believed he _deserved_ it, though he couldn't very well tell Leonie that. 

Leonie let out another sigh, exasperated and full of irritation before standing from the table. “If you need anything, just tell me, okay? I mean it, Felix.” She waggled her finger at him as though he were little more than a misbehaving child, though Felix inclined his head nonetheless. She could certainly be fiercely protective, and Felix appreciated her friendship more than he could likely ever say. It was difficult to push away the thought that she and Ingrid were incredibly similar, at least in that regard. 

–

Margrave Gautier's trip was cut short abruptly, and he felt nothing for the servants who scrambled to ready the carriage and horses when he demanded they depart at once instead of daybreak as he'd first instructed them. If his commands were snappy he did not mean them for once; it felt as though his guilt were a phantom chasing him, and the sooner he put distance between him and Felix, the better. Even thinking it hurt, hurt almost as bad as the notion that he'd forced himself on Felix, but at least he could be assured Felix would be free of him forever now. Felix would suffer no more at his hands. 

Rumors soon spread across the continent about the Margrave's changed demeanor, his refusal to see or receive anyone even from Her Imperial Majesty. He holed himself away in Gautier territory, now expanded to include bits of Fraldarius and Charon as well, and what little contact he allowed himself was with his manservant, and only then to be brought food or fresh linens and clothing. His interest in politics had never been strong, and only dwindled further as the months passed, the memories of Felix and of the war serving as appropriate torture and allowing him little rest between the nightmares. 

“My Lord?” Sylvain scarcely even reacted to the sound of his manservant's voice, the older gentleman loitering in the doorway as Sylvain penned his name to a petition involving property disputes or some such – he'd already forgotten. “There is someone here to see you,” the servant continued when Sylvain offered no response. 

“You know I'm not taking visitors,” Sylvain reminded him, more tired than anything else. His eyes, once alight with mirth and warmth, were weighed down by dark bags and his own guilt, and he offered the man a brief glance before looking back down to the pile of missives he still needed to go through. 

“This one was, ah, particularly insistent, My Lord. He said, 'Tell him I want my sword back'?” The well of ink spilled across all the parchment as Sylvain's hand jarred in place, his quill falling into the quickly-coagulating puddle before he was on his feet. His heart was suddenly racing, his mouth dry; Felix...was _here_? 

_Why?_

“I'll...be out shortly,” Sylvain managed, wincing as he glanced at his own reflection. He'd avoided it for months now, unable to bear looking at his own face, but now he saw just how those long months had not done him any favors. Scarcely a few years over thirty and he looked closer to fifty between the gauntness of his face and the loose-fitting robes, cheeks sallow and eyes sunken. There was nothing for it now, though. It was entirely possible Felix was here to kill him, after all, and Sylvain managed a small, tired smile at that; such would almost be a relief now. 

“Very good, My Lord. I will have him wait in your parlor.” 

His steps were heavy, as though he were treading through a mire, and by the time he reached the parlor he could not bring himself to go past the threshold. For once the room was bright with sunlight, the windows looking out on an admittedly bleak landscape, but the light did little but highlight Felix's silhouette. His back was to Sylvain, his arms crossed over his chest, and Sylvain tried to ignore how readily his heart leaped in his chest at the sight of him. He'd tug up the old coat he'd worn back during the war, though it seemed a tight fit now – undoubted due to the lack of training he was getting. 

“How long were you planning on making me wait?” Felix asked, not turning, though he was still able to see a blurry reflection of Sylvain in the glass. 

“F-felix? Why are you here?” Goddess. His once-silver tongue had turned to lead and he practically buckled inside the door, his hand grazing over the door jamb just to keep himself from tumbling. 

Irritation flitted across Felix's face at the question. “Did you really expect me to not come back after what happened?” One of his hands clenched into a fist, and Sylvain blinked to hear so much emotion in Felix's tone – if he didn't know better, he'd have though the former swordsman was about to cry. 

Sylvain's gaze fell to the floor at the reminder, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I don't have any excuses, Felix,” Sylvain told him, desperate and earnest and self-effacing. “I thought...I guess I thought you'd stay away?” Sylvain hadn't given him any reason to leave after the war, but he'd _certainly_ given him enough to stay away after what had happened. “Why _did_ you come, though?” Sylvain then asked, still puzzled and forcing back the urge to draw closer, to reach out even a single hand to Felix's arm. 

Felix did not answer for several long moments, his teeth gnawing into his lip before he turned and Sylvain's eyes widened. “Oh. Oh _Goddess_. I'm sorry, Felix. I'm so sorry.” Hot tears slid down his cheeks as his knees finally, _inevitably_ buckled. 

“Get up, Sylvain,” Felix insisted, crossing the room and pausing just before him, his eyes narrowed and imperious as they glared down at the redhead. “You don't get to play the victim here.”

Sylvain tried to blink back the tears, even tried to wipe them away with the back of his hand, but as he got to his feet Felix reared back a hand and the hard edges of his knuckles connected with Sylvain's jaw. Pain exploded in his mouth followed by the sudden, metallic taste of blood, though before Sylvain could say another word Felix's hand had balled into the tunic he wore, crunching the material in his fist before he dragged Sylvain closer and pressed their mouths together much more softly than he would have expected. Felix's cheeks were red by the time he pulled away, and while Sylvain couldn't say he didn't enjoy the view, being punched and then kissed half a breath apart were rather conflicting signals, even by Felix's standards. 

“Look,” Felix began, his gaze firmly elsewhere even as Sylvain seemed to hang upon his every word. “I know that leaving after the war...,” his words tapered off as his eyes squeezed shut, and Felix shook his head before continuing. “I shouldn't have left you, especially not without saying anything, and I'm sorry for that,” Felix nodded a little to himself at the apology he'd been wanting to get out since he'd first procured a horse and headed west. “But that didn't give you the right to...to–” 

Felix started in place when Sylvain's hand curled gently around his suddenly-clenched hand. “I know,” Sylvain whispered, sagging forward with a clenched jaw. “ _Goddess_ I know it didn't, but I was so angry, Felix. I know it's not an excuse, but when you left what did I have? Dimitri, Ingrid, Mercedes – _every one_ of our friends was dead, some of them _I_ even killed myself, and then you'd disappeared.” Sylvain swallowed as he looked away from that ever-piercing gaze Felix possessed: as though cutting away the truth from the embellished bull shit Sylvain tended to spew. After nearly a decade at each other's sides, it had become second nature to him, even after all their time spent apart.

“And then, out of nowhere, I suddenly _see_ you again?” There was desperation in Sylvain's tone, a depth of emotion that was uncommon for him, and Felix found himself frowning slightly, the warmth of Sylvain's hand against his own never wavering even if something cold dropped in his gut. “It felt like...like you'd chosen that kind of life _over_ me. That everything we'd been through together was meaningless, and I just _snapped_.” He was beyond miserable now, tears scarcely held back as he finally allowed his gaze to flick back to Felix and then down further still to the swell of his abdomen: clearly noticeable but still a ways off yet. 

“I'm...not skilled at handling my grief, Sylvain,” Felix finally admitted, his words pulling Sylvain's gaze back up to his face as surprise widened his eyes. “Even when Glenn died, all I could do was...was cut myself off. I was so angry then, so _frustrated_ at my old man and Ingrid and Dimitri for glorifying his death. _You_ were the only one who didn't compare me to him, you know; even after he died it never felt like you treated me any differently, and I'm sorry I never thanked you for that.” Felix blinked when Sylvain dragged him into his arms just moments after he'd finished speaking, his belly making it slightly difficult to get _too_ close, but Sylvain noted that Felix did not try to pull away. 

“You don't have to explain anymore, Fe,” Sylvain murmured, nosing at the soft strands of Felix's hair just above his ear. Maybe at one time he thought Felix had owed him an apology, but that time was long since past. 

“You're wrong,” Felix declared hoarsely, and Sylvain pulled back to see tears in the swordsman's eyes – tears he promptly blinked away with a frustrated expression and a muttered _damn hormones_ that Sylvain was likely not meant to hear. “I thought about you all the time, Sylvain. I wondered whom you married, if you had kids of your own. Even when I thought about coming back, I...could never bring myself to do it. I thought you'd send me away.” 

“Never,” Sylvain replied with a frown, and something resembling a smile settled at his mouth when he leaned his forehead down against Felix's and the other hummed in contentment. As much as he enjoyed the contact, however, Sylvain pulled away after a while, adam's apple bobbing before he licked his lips. “Does...that mean you're staying?” Sylvain finally dared to ask, one of Felix's eyes peeking open at him before humming as though contemplating. 

“I know I screwed up, Fe. Big time. But I'll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you, if you'll let me,” Sylvain promised, one of his hands coming to rest on the small bump of Felix's torso that pressed between them: proof of their meeting several months prior. 

“Is that a proposal?” Felix teased, a dark eyebrow lifted coyly before Sylvain blinked and then chuckled. 

“I guess it is,” Sylvain laughed with a nod. “Just...promise me you'll _talk_ to me before making any big decisions, all right?” _I don't think I could handle you disappearing again._

Felix nodded firmly at the caveat, lips thinning into a line. 

“So. How...much longer until...?” Sylvain gestured towards Felix's belly curiously, and the swordsman rolled his eyes at the question. 

“A couple more months, I think? I'm not exactly practiced in this you know, and it's been a while since I've seen a healer.” That familiar glint of irritation settled in his eyes, and Sylvain nodded with another chuckle before Felix sighed up at him. “Come on. You've still got blood on your mouth,” Felix stated with a shake of his head, leading him back towards Sylvain's bedroom where he knew a basin of water was kept. 

“You _did_ punch me, remember?” Sylvain reminded him glibly, though he promptly shut his mouth when Felix sent a sharp look at him from over his shoulder. “Not that I didn't deserve it,” Sylvain added in something of a placating gesture. Felix nodded at his addition before gesturing wordlessly for him to sit on his unmade bed, though his eyes followed Felix as he reached for one of the cloth towels and wet it in the basin before returning. 

Just as Felix leaned closer to dab at the blood, though, Sylvain's hands reached around him, pulling him down and then back as Sylvain's back flattened against the bed. “I missed you so much, Felix,” Sylvain murmured, looking up at him with soft eyes. 

Though Felix stiffened in his hold he did not stop wiping the blood away until it was mostly gone, and then settled a hand onto the bed at Sylvain's side before pressing a tender kiss at the corner of his mouth. “I love you, Sylvain,” he murmured softly, his eyes falling shut just as Sylvain's widened. 

“Wh-what did you just say?” Sylvain asked, clearly caught off guard even as his reaction made Felix chuckle. 

“I'm not saying it again,” Felix taunted him before groaning into the firm kiss Sylvain planted on his lips. 

“Not even if I ask nicely?” Sylvain returned after pulling away, Felix biting his lip as if considering before his eyes rolled. 

“Really, Sylvain? _Now_? You're as insatiable as you ever were,” Felix accused him, feeling the hardening line of Sylvain's length beginning to press against his ass. 

“I can't help it,” Sylvain claimed sheepishly. “It's hard to avoid when the love of your life confesses his feelings for you,” he added lowly, relishing the dusting of pink across Felix's face before tugging him down for another, slower kiss. 

“Idiot,” Felix muttered against Sylvain's mouth, though it was followed by another kiss, and he groaned softly when Sylvain's tongue slid into his mouth.


End file.
